


Principle of Cross-Cutting Relationships

by thesubtleone



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Edit: its teen cause i do tend to be visceral about describing angelos healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love Languages, M/M, Pining, but thats all, lads we are Yearning, no i will Not stop titling my angelo works after geological terms, theres some vague description of angelos injuries cause im a sucker for that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27977982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesubtleone/pseuds/thesubtleone
Summary: Angelo thinks he understands how Ale communicates. He's wrong
Relationships: Sir Angelo/Ale of Milltown (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I said I was gonna write this uhhhhh a month ago, and if I don't post this section now its not gonna be posted. Enjoy!

Angelo has been very lucky in that he has spent his entire life surrounded by love. (Once he would have said this was true of everyone. He is trying.) His family loved him dearly in all their varied ways, and there was no shortage of love among the kni—his friends. Among his friends.

Sir Caroline called him an oaf and a buffoon when she was angry, but she never forgot to apologize when she went too far, and he knew she cared deeply for him. Sir Damien, true to his poet nature, let words expressing his affection flow out of him without restraint, a torrent that could not be dammed up for long. Sometimes straightforward, sometimes poetic, sometimes banter, all truly full of love.

When Ale speaks about the work he’s done, saving the little ones, helping the dryads, whatever his task of the day may be, despite his evident exhaustion and frustration with “that damned Citadel,” a note of pride and care enters his voice. And Angelo _gets_ that. Understands the purpose and solid bedrock beneath serving a cause greater than yourself.

He might be a little envious.

At first its because he has just lost his own foundation. Dissolved with the hissing and popping of limestone and a casual drawl of the most secret passages in the Citadel. He feels purposeless and lost and Ale has been saving Milltown all on his own (he _knows_ that’s not true but he still _feels_ it) without any assistance from the Citadel and so he envies Ale.

“Yeah, I know,” Ale replies.

“You—what? Perhaps I am unclear, I—”

“I heard you just fine the first time,” Angelo has been lying on his stomach, staring at the wall, and he wishes he could turn to face Ale. He firmly believes eye contact is important for communication. But the thought alone has his shoulders tensing in imagined pain, manifesting it, the familiar shudders skittering down whatever muscles line his spine and wrap his sides. “You’ve been through a hell of a lot,” a gentle touch right at the upper corner of his right shoulder. Either Ale is cold, or his fever is coming back. “And now you’re bedridden and hurting, and I’m not. It makes sense. You still need a therapist though.”

An old path, a familiar conversation. Acknowledging Angelo’s confession and moving on all in one smooth motion. If only Angelo had such grace when talking. He swallows and pushes his face further into his pillow.

“I will when I can stand again, you know this.”

“Sure you’re not just avoiding it?” the smile audible over the sounds of activity Ale busies himself with on his visits.

“Positive, my friend.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the writing bug hits you 3 months after the first chapter and you just have to live with that! Ah well, such is life

"Why is it that I only meet the stubborn knights?"

Angelo's not sure if it's more of a conversation starter or actual complaint, but regardless his reply is the same.

"It's a quality they emphasize often in training. I myself was praised for this very quality more times than I can recall!"

"You sure those weren't criticisms, schoolboy?" And pay off. His heart and stomach leap as Ale flicks his shoulder, but he manages to not startle visibly.

"That depends on who you ask! I'm proud of my stubbornness, and therefore it is praise."

"Mm, maybe so," a tap on his arm to let him know he's moving, light footsteps walking to the back wall. "Doesn't explain the one I met today though."

A bracing breath in, and he tries so hard not to tense up. Not to react physically to this, not to interrupt the healing process, tear the fine roots knitting him back together.

"Angelo?" And Saints, but he still can't see him. He doesn't know if that's better or worse. "Did you forget to breathe out?" A joke wrapped up in care. He holds tight to that thought as he exhales, slow and stuttering and uneven as his lungs shudder.

"Can you describe them?" There's so much a knight of the crown could do to hurt Milltown. Any information Angelo has about the knights might help stop that.

"Uhh, I suppose," there was a creak of wood as Ale leaned on something, the absentminded scratch of faint stubble as he thought. "Angry, stubborn, tall, a real asshole."

Oh, he was doing this  _ on purpose _ , "Ale..."

A bright glint of laughter, "yeah I suppose that doesn't narrow it down much, huh? That's practically the job description. Uh, sounded like they were from the Southern Frosts, with a  _ very _ flirty witch, knew you-"

He doesn't realise what he's doing until after he's done it. One second he's waiting for Ale to give a description, the next he's on his feet, knees trembling like a fawn and blackness spreading in his vision.

"Woah! Hey, no! You need to--" Ale, his voice sounding muffled, warped. His vision is completely gone at this point and his heart is pounding in his ears, but he flails a hand out to where he was last. There's a hand gripping his upper arm, much closer than he expected, running quickly up to his shoulder to keep contact, then the palm, wrist, and forearm all gently pressing him to sit down. He folds, gasping. Sound returns like he's surfacing from deep underwater. "...-an't just do that, what in--"

"Sir Caroline."

A moment. "What?"

"That's Sir Caroline, I trust her with my life."

A frustrated, tired, sigh. The hand leaves his shoulder. "Angelo..."

"Ale, please, listen," oh, he sounds broken, even to himself. "I know what I'm asking of you. The trust, the-" he cuts himself off closes his eyes to ignore the spots of light that swim in his vision. "But if this truly is Sir Caroline, she is the only knight I would ever trust with this. With, with the dryads, with everything." Ever since Damien left, at least. "Please." His vision is back by now, but he's honestly too exhausted to make eye contact. "If you get proof… proof that it's her..."

Again he sighs. Angelo doesn't know if he manages to hide his grimace, his eyes shut tight against the world around him. He really really wishes he didn't have to do this, to ask this of Ale 

"I'll see what I can do." And then he's gone, and Angelo is left reeling with the enormity of what he's been granted.


End file.
